ack we have to follow, striking a note of loneliness that is awesome
without being unpleasant. With what we call civilisation hundreds of miles
away, in a country where law and order are to be regarded more as names
than facts, one has a great joy in mere living, intensified doubtless by
long hours spent in the saddle, by occasional hard work and curtailed
rest, and by the daily sight of the rising sun.

The evening meal is a simple affair of soup, a chicken, and some coffee to
follow, and when it is over I make my way to the kitchen tent, where the
men have supped, and send M'Barak with an invitation to the headman and
his sons. The blessed one makes his way to the headman's hut, while Salam
clears up the debris of the meal, and the Maalem, conscious that no more
work will be expected of him, devotes his leisure to the combustion of
hemp, openly and unashamed. With many compliments the headman arrives, and
I stand up to greet and bid him welcome--an effort that makes heavy call
upon my scanty store of Arabic. The visitors remove their slippers and sit
at ease, while Salam makes a savoury mess of green tea, heavily sweetened
and flavoured with mint. My visitors are too simply pious to smoke, and
regard the Maalem with displeasure and surprise, but he is quite beyond
the reach of their reproaches now. His eyes are staring glassily, his lips
have a curious ashen colour, his hands are twitching--the hemp god has
him by the throat. The village men turn their backs upon this degraded
Believer, and return thanks to Allah the One for sending an infidel who
gives them tea. Broadly speaking, it is only coast Moors, who have
suffered what is to them the contamination of European influences, that
smoke in Morocco.

Like the Walrus and the Carpenter, we talk of many things, Salam acting as
interpreter. The interests of my guests are simple: good harvests,
abundant rain, and open roads are all they desire. They have never seen
the sea or even a big Moorish town, but they have heard of these things
from travellers and traders who have passed their nights in the n'zala in
times recent or remote, and sometimes they appeal to me to say if these
tales are true. Are there great waters of which no man may drink--waters
that are never at rest? Do houses with devils (? steam engines) in them go
to and fro upon the face of these waters? Are there great cities so big
that a man cannot walk from end to end in half a day? I testify to the
truth